Harry Potter and the Curse of the Horcruxes
by darkenwolf88
Summary: After the Break-in of Gringotts, Harry learn that, in trying to stop Voldemort, they've allowed him to come back more terrifying and evil than ever. Can the trio prevent this from happening? Rated for lang/viol. Updated sporadically.
1. Chapter 1

Gringotts, Diagon Alley, London

The wizarding bank was bombarding Harry's ears with waves of sound – the clinking of gold on scales; the trotting of feet as tiny goblins led their human customers along the large lobby; the mad buzz of chatter as men and women argues, whispered, yelled, and otherwise spoke in hushed tones; and, of course, the nasally voice of their personal goblin, Greyore, carrying over the noise.

"Misters and Misses, your crimes are most grievous," the goblin said, "most grievous indeed."

"Yeah, thanks for the reminder." Ron muttered in Harry's ear. Hermoine giggled, but Harry just nodded absently and continued to walk on. It had been merely four days since his defeat of Tom Riddle, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named…Harry despised that name. It seemed to give the monster that had haunted the wizarding community for so long some respect. Now, however, he was being dragged into a stupid hearing at Gringotts. Apparently, the goblims were most aggrieved at Ron, Hermoine, and his, actions of their last visit.

_Suppose it can't be helped, t_hought Harry, managing the grin that Ron had expected earlier. He wouldn't blame the goblins for being angry; it was him, after all, that served as the primary reason for eight burn injuries inflicted on the dwarfed creatures. Those 'victims' claimed that they couldn't get out of the way of the white-hot jewels that had cascaded out of the door of the Lestrange vault.

"Can't this just be settled by money?" asked Harry wearily to the goblin as the green-skinned creature led them onto the platform that housed the minecarts. "I can only imagine you'd want the huge fortune in my va-"

"No, sir, no," muttered Greyore, managing a devilish sort-of chuckle that one would expect from a cartoon villain. "You've to answer for a crime much more serious than the burns that my brothers suffered. Oh, no…"

"Miserable old grouch." Ron muttered again.

"Ron, be polite!" said Hermoine reprovingly, letting her slender palm slip out of his clumsy hand. "He's just doing his job."

"Yeah, and he doesn't have to rub in the fact that we're to blame for whatever we did, either."

Ron brought another good point to Harry's mind- they haden't a clue what they were doing here. He was at the Burrow about three hours ago, having another long-winded chat with Ginny, when Mr. Weasley yelled up the stairs for him.

"Harry!" came the familiar voice of Authur Weasley from below the rickety staircase, "You've got a visitor. Come on down."

"Ugh, another well-wisher." Groaned Harry (his past few days were spent listening to his admirers coming to wish him their deepest gratitude. Harry would've ignored, but Molly insisted that this course of action would be rather rude). "I'll be back in a second, Gin," he said to the beauty next to him on the bed, kissing her on her forehead.

"Mmm," she said, her eyes closing as the mattress raised itself up with the departing of Harry's weight. Harry walked down the stairs, into the tiny kitchen that held Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Hermoine, Kingsley Shackelbolt, and three official-looking wizards that Harry assumed were from the Ministry.

Harry was taken aback by the number of people in the room. He expected the Weasley parents, but Ron and Hermoine were supposed to be in Austrailia, finding Hermoine's bewitched parents. Kingsley, the temporary Minister of Magic, would naturally be up to his neck in letters and memoes and hearings to convict captured Death Eaters.

"Um…hi," was all Harry could think of.

"Harry James Potter," started one of the Ministry wizards, but Kinglsey cut him off.

"I can do it, Lallo," he said in his low, deep voice that sent the hairs on Harry's neck up. It wasn't the usual, calming voice he normally used with his friends, but it was a darker, more menacing tone. "Harry James Potter, you are to hereby placed under Minisrty custody."

"What?" said Harry after a brief moment.


	2. Chapter 2

Gringotts, Diagon Alley, London

So here's where Harry was now. Arrested just three days after practically saving the world from an immortal villain.

"So, what's the exact reason for us being here?" he asked Greyore, as the cart sped onwards, twisting and turning on the rickety mine track.

"You'll see, soon enough," cackled Greyore in another fit of demonic laughter. Harry heard Ron mutter something and saw Hermoine give him a punch on the arm, but Harry, again, decided to remain inside himself. His resentment in being placed in such a predicament hadn't shown. He'd been holding a lot of things inside him, lately, though – his fears of Voldemort somehow returning again; his constant worrying over Ginny (who continued to tell Harry that she was fine); and the painful thought of all the people who had died at Hogwarts…practically all because of him.

His first impressions at the arrest were "What gives you the right"s, "What the fuck"s, "Are you out of your mind"s, and "You and what army"s. However, with Ron and Hermoine's hands already bound with the Arm-Cuff jinx, along with their wands taken away (they had reached for these first when approached in Australia), and with the presence of four Minisrty workers, one being the Minister himself, Harry decided against the impulse to fight against the order. He came quietly, in the sense that he didn't go kicking or screaming, but he wasn't silent. He dropped some 'fucks' and 'bastards' and 'son of a bitches', earning gasps from the women, chuckles from Ron, and evil glares from the men.

"YOU OBVIOUSLY HAVE NO CLUE THE DANGER YOU'VE PUT US IN, POTTER!" bellowed Kingsley, blowing up in Harry's face. The Boy Who Lived shut up after that.

"Well then, what did we do?" asked Harry. Kingsley sighed, rubbing his slack face with the heels of his palms. The man seemed overworked, stressed, and quick to lash out.

"In the current conditions-" he spared the Burrow a look of suspicion, as though the walls were silently listening to their words, "-you can see why we can't tell you."

"We have spells that go against bugging, and they're up all the time," offered Hermoine, but Kingsley had claimed that this was too risky.

"Kings, this place is too guarded-" Mr. Weasley began, but Kingsley cut him off.

"No, no…it's not a matter of security. I know you and Molly have this place well under wraps. It's a matter…well, of discression. Due to the new job, I'm to be constantly followed by my bodyguards, who have been expressly forbidden to know. Because they can't leave my side, I'm afraid that-"

"Who passed along those orders, Kingsley?" asked Harry, bemused. It seemed comical that the Minister of Magic, the most powerful man in the Wizarding community, would have to take orders from someone else (most likely a lower-standing employee).

"The Gringotts director, Lance Bottlegreen." Muttered Kingsley, developing a red blush under is dark cheeks.

"Gringotts?" asked Ron, but it only took him a second for him to realize why Gringotts would have trouble with him, Harry and Hermoine. "Oh, no…"

That was what Ron had assumed. He thought, as did the rest of the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermoine, that this summons would deal with the illegality of what they had done – break-in, endangerment of employees, assault and battery, not to mention the use of the Imperious Curse, one of the three Unforgivable Curses. Due to the nature of why he had used it, Kingsley had pardoned Harry from the crimes of using such spells like Imperio and Crucio. Did Bottlegreen not know this?

Gringotts Inner-Most Vaults, Diagon Alley, London

The mine cart continued to twist and turn. Harry was starting to shiver from the cold wind blowing past him, and the braziers that illuminated the walls of the cave seemed more weathered and older than the next.

"How much farther is this-" Harry started, but stopped.

As the mine cart took another wide turn, a large building appeared from behind a stalagmite that the track curved around. It looked like a large sunflower made of red clay. Its base and roof were connected to the ceiling and floor, and along the body of the tower were hundreds and hundreds of holes, with the wood-and-metal tracks coming out of them like spindly little spider legs.

Greyore's face, which had looked maniacal the entire ride, seemed to sober up.

"Welcome to Kracis," he said in a quiet voice. "Home of the goblins."


End file.
